Heartkill Drama

Any aspirin I consume
won’t aid the tortuous sore stressing my chest out.
I’ve visited every doctor in Seattle
and they all tell me the same exact thing.
I’m lovesick.
Take a quick-fix.
Forget H.I.M.

Having multiple severe symptoms
must be hazardous
to my mental health.

Heartburn kills my insides—
Migraines make the hurt I feel unbearable to deal with
and acting normal isn’t a clear option anymore.

According to
every specialist,
every therapist,
every friend;
every viable
option of
good advice
indicate that
living does not
seem like an
possible
option anymore.

But I don’t want to sell my soul to the darkness.
No—not yet.

Maybe I’ll ask a heart surgeon
to rip my heart out and mail it to
my ex-boyfriend’s front doormat.

That way when my ex steps on the doormat.
He’ll feel the twinges of guilt and pain
I’ve suffered, shock up to his brain
once he crushes my heart
Even though he already did…

Scratch lovesick recovery plan one—
I’ll go with my second blueprint in the making.

My pen flies off the paper writing here. Ink splatters like a slashed artery.

Take two:
how do I murder the drama?
Dissipate the butterflies a certain someone
gave me.

~~~

I WON CAMP NANOWRIMO 2015!!!!!! ;D

~~~

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